


beyond the sunrise

by daxmii



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Case Fic, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hank Anderson Needs a Hug, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Memory Loss, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Suicidal Thoughts, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-07-16 05:11:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16079129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daxmii/pseuds/daxmii
Summary: It's October 2039, and nothing is going right for Hank--but that's to be expected. When Connor is reset back to his factory settings, he's forced to deal with what he would have liked to forget: the machine designed to accomplish a task. He must work with this shell of his former partner to solve a case and return Connor's memories back to where they belong.





	1. October

**Author's Note:**

> it's finally here! i've been working on this fic for a really long while now and chapter one is f i n a l l y done. i'd just like to thank my dbr friends for helping me get this thing done and putting up with my shit sjhfsjfakf. anyhow, enjoy!

For the record, October fucking sucks.

In Hank’s case, at least one thing always happens to go horribly wrong in October, without fail. Every year. _Especially_ recently. It’s a curse, and he would bet money on it. He _could_ , honestly. Shitty Octobers, all his life. Each October since his first (in which he almost died, apparently; that’s a fun party story to tell) has been the fucking _worst_ , and he can’t help but feel a sense of impending doom as the tenth month rears its ugly head.

When October 1st, 2039 rolled around, Hank had refused to leave the house. He’d sat his paranoid ass on the couch and stayed put, and if it hadn’t been for his stubborn android partner, he might have stayed there for the rest of the month. There’s no way October 2035 could be topped, but Hank knows for a goddamn _fact_ that life would come up with a way for October 2035 to be topped.

His life has been going too good for the past year thanks to that android partner for October to come and fuck it up all over again. Fuck, he wishes sometimes that he could be an android.

Androids don’t feel pain. Androids don’t feel sad. Androids don’t get fucked over by October every year. Androids, those _damned_ androids, don’t have to drink their problems away. He was confused from the get-go of the android revolution as to why they were so adamant about being alive. Being alive--being _human_ \--is shit. Stay androids, he’d tell the protesters he saw on the news. It’s better that way.

It had unnerved him at first to see those androids that had seemed particularly human. The Traci couple at the Eden Club, the AX400 and the little girl, Markus and the entirety of Jericho… They looked and sounded like humans, sure, but deep down they were just hunks of plastic and hardware, right? He had been sure of it; he knew, of course, that his partner was simply a machine. It was programmed to work, to aid him in his investigation. It was programmed to follow commands. It was only programmed to act human, friendly, trustworthy, just so it could integrate itself better into his life. It was a machine, and nothing else.

“We are alive,” the deviants would preach, “we’re just like you.” Bullshit, he’d say. We don’t bleed the same color. We aren’t the same. They are machines, and he is a human.

In his several weeks of working with Connor, Hank had found that he had to remind himself that his android companion was, in fact, an android, designed to accomplish a task. That he was just using pre-programmed responses in order to be his friend.

_“I’m whatever you want me to be, Lieutenant.”_

Sometimes he’d find himself thinking that maybe the deviants were onto something. He’d come to understand over the course of that week with his partner that while they don’t bleed the same color, they still both bleed, and that’s just a part of being alive.

Not that he could complain. Ever since the accident, Hank had dwindling hope in humanity and those fucking androids. His revolver and bottles of whiskey were his only solace in this world where his son wasn’t living. _Fucking_ October. So he’d hoped--for _some_ fucking reason--that Connor might perhaps restore his faith in… in something. Android-kind? The world? Humanity? Himself? Who the fuck knows?

And so, at that moment weeks after the end of the revolution, in front of the Chicken Feed truck, as soon as that crooked smirk had fallen upon the android’s face, any of Hank’s preconceived notions of those damned androids fell to the deviants’ cause that androids are so unbelievably fucking _alive._

Connor had looked at him sincerely, an expression of contentedness plastered on his face. Hank hadn’t seen him sporting much of anything other than a blank, neutral stare before that moment, and he had to admit it was a nice change. It was really… human. He noticed, when he pulled his companion into a tight embrace, that he emitted body heat. This something so human, so minuscule, yet so, so important, though something he never would have considered before, sent overwhelming emotion over him--which one, though, he couldn’t determine. Happiness? Pride? Love? Every paternal sentiment packed up into one, mind-bogglingly overpowering, stupid emotion that made him squeeze the android harder than he’d ever squeezed anyone in years. Maybe that kid had filled up some kind of void somewhere deep in Hank’s old heart that the accident had left there. If Connor needed to breathe, he likely would have suffocated.

“I’m… happy to see you too, Lieutenant,” Connor, who had been holding on tightly to the back of Hank’s jacket, piped up after a long moment. He had paused before the word _happy_ , Hank realized, likely to remind himself that he was allowed now to feel emotion. To choose for himself what to say, how to think, what to _do._ He had free will.

“Androids are a new form of intelligent life,” Hank had said, quoting president Warren. He clapped a hand on Connor’s shoulder, making the android smile again. Hank made a decree then and there to make that kid smile as much as possible. _“_ You guys really did it, huh?”

“I suppose so.” Connor’s light-thingy (it’s called an LED, apparently, but Hank likes to call it literally anything else just to piss him off) flashed yellow for a second, and then flickered back to blue. Hank had come to love the way he could see Connor’s train of thought, though he always wondered exactly what--how? if?--the android was thinking. Most androids took out their light-thingies after the revolution, but even after a year, Connor hasn’t removed his. Maybe he knows how much Hank likes it.

Hank had grinned. “That’s fuckin’ fantastic, Connor. I’m proud of you. You did good.” Connor smiled again and looked down. Bashful? That badass he’d seen on TV with a mob of liberated androids? (There was a lot, Hank had come to realize, that he had to learn about deviant Connor, e.g. he likes romantic comedies and he texts like a Facebook mom.) “Well then, what’s gonna happen to you now?

“What do you mean?”

“Now that CyberLife doesn’t own you anymore, where are you supposed to go?” Hank had crossed his arms, watching the light-thingy turn from blue, to yellow, to red, to yellow, and back to blue. “You can’t stay in that glorified closet they keep you in anymore. You’re on your own. You have any plans?”

Another long moment and another coy smile. “Well, Markus offered to let me stay in the apartments they’re building for New Jericho until I raise some money, but… well, I was hoping you had the answer to that, Lieutenant.”

Since that day, Connor has been living at Hank’s house, crashing on the couch whenever he needs to sleep (something that will _always_ confuse Hank, by the way). When he first moved in, the android claimed he would only stay “for a couple months, just until I can get on a more stable footing.” He never did find that stable footing, but Hank likes to believe his partner just doesn’t want to leave. He enjoys the company, and, well, maybe he doesn’t want Connor to leave either.

A chime from his phone brings him back to the present.

_ST200 requires a biocomponent for reactivation & the one she needs isn’t here. This may take longer than I expected. If I’m not back by lunch, just go without me. - Connor _

Oh, yeah. Connor’s been going over evidence. Without his constant yapping at the desk across from him, Hank was given the chance to space out. Connor’s talking was certainly annoying at first, but it eventually became a way to help him focus, keep himself on task.

Hank flicks open the case file sitting on his desk. An RT600 attacked the victim, her former owner (the word sends a shiver up Hank’s spine) that she still lived with, injuring him and killing another RT600 and an ST200, also living in the same house. The suspect was reported missing the second of October with no lead to her current location. She’s been missing for two days, but without any information from anyone involved, they’re stuck, stressed, and ready to drop the case.

It would be just like any case he and Connor had solved before if it weren’t for the looming fact that the victim is Elijah fucking Kamski himself. The situation reminds Hank of his and Connor’s initial case together--that sense of urgency, that if anything were to go wrong, it’s their asses on the line. While certainly thrilling, it’s stressful as fuck, and it’s taking a toll on both of them.

Despite going deviant almost a year ago, Connor still doesn’t understand how feelings--those stupid feelings--work. He’s got unhealthy coping mechanisms up the wazoo, he still works his ass off with no regard to his own health, and with the added stress of this case being shoved down their throats by Fowler, he’s, for the lack of a better word, fucked up. Hank wonders sometimes, usually when he watches Connor pacing the room, pulling on his own hair, if androids were programmed from the beginning to experience deviancy. Emotion. Fear. All he knows is that he wants to break the nose of whoever’s responsible for his partner feeling the way that he does, but it’s probably for the better. He’d never been a fan of that blank, emotionless stare anyway.

_you need any help?_

_No, I’ll be fine. I just have to go to the CyberLife store. Hopefully it won’t take too long and I can talk to Chloe ASAP :-) - Connor_

_ok. keep me updated_

_Sorry I might miss lunch. - Connor_

_it’s all good. you’re doing your job._

Texts from Connor have become more frequent as the year has gone on. He’s so talkative in person; Hank isn’t surprised that he’s taken a liking to texting. Hank likes to scroll through his message history when he’s having a bad day, and the multitude of smiley emoticons always seems to cheer him up somehow.

Hank smiles. Next month, the two of them will be able to reminisce on the night of their first meeting--when Connor stopped by Jimmy’s Bar, dumped Hank’s drink on the floor, and changed both of their lives for the better.

He just prays that October will leave Connor alone.

Besides, it seems to have chosen its culprit already anyhow. Sumo is sick. Something about his liver, the vet had said; he likely only has a couple weeks left. Hank knows the lifespan of a Saint Bernard is eight to ten years. Sumo turned eight in April, and God knows he hasn’t been the healthiest dog in the world, but Hank can’t help but blame it on fucking _October._ Whether it’s the dog’s health or the curse placed on his owner, it’s Hank’s fault either way and it fucking sucks. October took his son, and now it’s taking his dog. What the fuck?

Sumo had been the only good thing in Hank’s life for years after the accident. Sometimes he was the only thing keeping him from pulling the trigger, and when he’s gone... Hank’s not sure what will happen. He can only hope that he’ll pull through again. He’s been doing so well with the alcohol too: three months clean. Fuck, he hopes he’ll be able to keep it together.

Connor isn’t taking it so well either. Hank almost hadn’t told him the bad news when he first found out. He really does like dogs, and he especially likes Sumo. They’ve become really close ever since Connor moved in, and sometimes Hank swears that Sumo likes Connor more than him. When Hank finally grew the balls to tell him, Connor didn’t talk or move from his spot next to the dog for the rest of the night. Hank was honestly scared that he had broken him or something, and the only thing that told Hank the kid was still alive was his flashing red light-thingy. Later that night he saw an android cry for the first time. Fucking October.

His phone chimes again. _Running late. The closest store didn’t have what I need. Sorry. Don’t forget to head home during lunch and give Sumo his meds :-) - Connor_

Hank checks the time. 12:01. Time for lunch. He sighs and logs out of his terminal, his eyes catching Connor’s empty desk chair. He’s not sure why Connor usually comes with him during his lunch breaks. Androids don’t need to eat (which is something he sometimes forgets himself; he’s accidentally bought a meal for Connor more times than he’s willing to admit), and while Hank insists that he doesn’t need to come, he always tags along. Well, except for today.

He thinks maybe he’ll treat himself to something greasy and super horrible for him since his partner won’t be there to pester him about cholesterol, but once he arrives at the Chicken Feed truck, he can’t bring himself to order something bad for him. He can almost hear Connor’s voice scolding him from the astral plane. Damn conscience. Hank hates to admit it, but his partner has improved his health exponentially in the almost-year that he’s been living with him. He’s stopped drinking, he’s been going on walks with Sumo, he’s been eating more rabbit food, and he’s been smiling a lot more.

After a salad with some fries on top (hey, he’s gotta have _some_ carbs) and giving Sumo his medication, Hank returns to the station. Connor still isn’t at his desk. Is he still at the CyberLife store? What part did he even need?

_you still out?_

No response. Connor’s responses are usually automatic, given that his phone is essentially inside his head. A bad feeling festers in his gut. Connor’s middle name is punctuality. Hank can’t help but worry that there’s something wrong. He stops an officer walking by his desk. “Have you seen Connor?”

“Saw him last heading to the archive room while you were at lunch,” he answers, pausing for a moment. “He usually goes with you, doesn’t he?”

“Said he had to get some stuff for one of the Chloes. A, uh, biocomponent or something.”

“Ah, alright. Yeah, I’d check there first,” he says and continues on his way, and Hank’s worry diminishes. Connor’s fine. Hank’s just paranoid (though he has every right to be. Connor isn’t exactly known for practicing self-preservation). He grabs his key and makes his way to the archive room. The door is ajar still, which strikes Hank as sort of strange--how could Connor forget to latch the door?--but he doesn’t dwell on it. Connor’s locker is already open when he walks in, but the kid is nowhere to be found. Dammit, he never makes anything easy, does he?

His eyes focus on the Chloes hanging in the evidence locker. One of them has a bashed in head (impossible reactivation, according to Connor) and the other is missing a leg. She’s awake, looking frantically around the room, but her eyes are entirely dark blue. _Blind_. Hank feels another chill run up his spine. Even after the Androids Act of 2039, which had called for equal rights for humans and androids, she isn’t being held as a witness.

“Hello? Who… who’s there?”

Hank approaches her slowly with his hands up, out of habit, and replies calmly and slowly, “It’s alright. I’m Lieutenant Hank Anderson. I work here with the guy who was just interrogating you. Where did he go?”

“I… don’t know. He was asking me questions and then he just… stopped talking and left the room. My optical units are malfunctioning. I didn’t see anything.”

“You don’t have any idea where he went?”

“No.” Chloe’s light-thingy never strayed from yellow, and her face looked almost guilty. Hank wonders if she was there the day he and Connor visited Kamski last year. He sighs, feeling that worry again. “I’m sorry.”

“Fuck. Uh, it’s alright. Thank you,” Hank sighs again and turns to leave.

“No, wait!” He pauses and turns. Chloe looks down at the floor, her brow deeply furrowed. She opens her mouth to speak a few times before she actually does. “Deactivate me before you go. I don’t want to be awake here anymore. It… it hurts.”

Hank feels a pang go through his heart as he inches closer. He recalls Connor’s lesson on android anatomy after a rather impromptu repair session with IKEA-level instructions. _“If you ever need to deactivate me, remove biocomponent #3938v, right here behind my ear. Its removal will result in an instant shutdown.”_

_“That doesn’t hurt? Isn’t that kind of like having an organ ripped out of you?”_

_“Androids can’t feel physical pain, Hank. Think of it as anesthesia of sorts.”_

He reaches up and pulls out the biocomponent, cringing when her body goes limp. He calls out to Connor, the panic festering in his gut more and more as the moments go on. When he receives no response, he logs out of Connor’s account on the console and leaves the archive room. Well, fuck, he could be anywhere. He starts asking around, “Have you seen Connor?”

Chris replies, “I dunno, sorry, man. I didn’t see him leave again after he got back from the store if that helps at all. Should be around here somewhere.”

Gavin replies, “You don't know? Tsk. How irresponsible of you, losing your pet.” Hank flips him the bird and shoves him aside.

Tina replies, “I saw him leaving the archive room, but I didn’t see where he went, sorry.”

Hank swears under his breath and thanks her, looking around at all the desks and chairs in the station. If no one had seen him heading outside, then where the fuck else could he be? A passing police android greets him, and he pats her shoulder to catch her attention. She turns, sporting that polite android smile.

“Have you seen Connor ‘round here since I got back from lunch?”

“No, I have not, but I can check the surveillance cameras for you.”

“Uh, yes. Please. Thank you.”

She stares forward as her light-thingy flickers and turns yellow. “Connor left the archive room about thirty minutes ago. He’s been sitting outside of the holding cells.” He blinks a few times before thanking her. That was simple.

He starts towards the holding cells and sees Connor there, sitting on one of the benches, just as the android states. No, laying on one of the benches. No… sleeping? His body is limp. Hank curses the kid for overworking himself so much and kneels down to rustle his shoulder. No response. Panic brews in Hank’s gut again. He whispers his name and lightly slaps his cheek. No response. As his eyes rest on Connor’s gray light-thingy his heart feels like it’s being squeezed by icy claws.

“Connor!” He shakes Connor’s shoulders this time, hoping, praying that by some force of magic that this could wake a dead android. “Connor, kid, wake up!” Officers begin to crowd around the area, murmuring and gasping as they watch Hank’s desperate attempt to revive his partner.

“Con, c’mon, don’t do this to me.” Hank grasps the sides of Conners head and shakes, muttering reassurances, and his finger brushes over something sharp and plastic sticking out from behind his ear. _Biocomponent #3938v._ He lets out a shaky breath of relief as he pushes the part back in, watching as his light-thingy pulses and Connor comes to life. The surrounding crowd is silent as Connor blinks himself awake and looks up with Hank.

Hank prepares to berate his partner on giving him the gazillionth heart attack since they first met, but his words catch in his throat as Connor returns his tearful smile with a blank, emotionless stare. Any light once in the android’s eyes is gone. Any warm expression that once graced his friendly face is gone. Any trace of _Connor_ is gone.

“Connor--?”

“Hello, Lieutenant Anderson. My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife to aid you in your investigation.”


	2. Unspoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank tries to get behind the mystery of Connor's missing memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't expect daily updates with me y'all. this shit was 4k words. thats a lot & i'm slow dfjskj,,, literally how do some people get a chapter out per day. I Do Not Understand. anyway, here's chapter two. hope you like it!

This is not fucking happening.

Hank stares a hole in Connor’s blank face, fruitlessly searching and searching and _searching._ This cannot be fucking happening. It must be some elaborate joke. It has to be. In a moment, Connor and the rest of the officers will laugh, and it’ll all be over. April Fools, October edition. He refuses to accept October would take Connor from him too.

He looks the android over, looking for any signs of abuse. He’d kill the motherfucker that did this--but he’s spotless, save for… _tear tracks?_ on his cheeks. He looks at the holding cells; all closed and locked. _Who did this?_

“What’s wrong, Lieutenant? I’m detecting a rise in your BPM and blood pressure. I suggest finding somewhere to sit down and relax while I get a head start--”

“Connor, if this is some kind of sick joke, it’s not fucking funny,” Hank snaps, feeling the sting of tears threatening to fall from his eyes. Connor blinks and cocks his head, his face unmoving. Not even a little. Still as a statue, emotionless as an android.

“I’m not joking, Lieutenant. Stress on the body can cause serious damage, especially for somebody your age.”

Hank shakes the android’s shoulders again as if this would knock some sense into his head. Connor simply puts a hand on Hank’s arm and looks at him with an expression that emanates faux concern. It was a look he remembered from almost a year ago, and it was a look he would like to forget.

He grabs the sides of Connor’s head, trying to get him to focus. “Connor, what’s my dog’s name?”

“I’m… not sure, Lieutenant. Are you alright? Are you experiencing amnesia?”

Hank feels his whole world crumble to pieces. He sits back, any words that he could have said to the android gone from his mind. Looking around in Connor’s dark eyes for any sort of repressed laughter or… or something-- _something, anything, any sign he’s still in there somewhere--_ he feels sick. This is not happening. Connor--his memory, his personality, his… his _himself_ \--is gone. No. _No._ October isn’t allowed to take him. Not him too. First his son, then his dog, and now the only fucking family he’s got left.

Hank wills himself to wake up from this nightmare.

The crowd has grown, filling the empty silence between him and Connor with confused mutters and accusatory whispering. Connor--not Connor?--scans the room, seemingly unaware of or unphased by the scene unfolding before him. Because of him. His absence.

Officers stand by but don’t intervene. Don’t step closer. Don’t say a word to either of them. Hank assumes that nobody knows what to do, because he, for one, is at a loss for words. Not-Connor watches him expectantly.

“Connor,” Hank begins slowly, “do you remember me?”

“It appears there’s something wrong with my internal memory. I don’t have any errors, but given your reaction and the fact that my activation location was a bench in the middle of the police department,” not-Connor says, looking around the office, “I just assumed I’m… forgetting something. Perhaps it is in your best interest to send me back to CyberLife to be replaced, Lieutenant. I am faulty.”

“Shut up,” Hank barks. “No. I’m taking you to the android doctor, you’re gonna get your memory back, and then this will all be over. Alright? Alright.” He ignores the face he got in response to ‘android doctor’ and grabs the android’s hand, pulling him off the bench and through the crowd of officers.

Android doctor. Hank would laugh if things weren’t so shitty. It was a term they came up with months ago when Connor got busted up after a run-in with a suspect and he had to go to the DPD technician for a repair.

“Look at you,” Hank had said while the woman checked him over. “You’re at the android doctor’s, Connor.” Connor laughed for the first time that day, and they stuck with that name ever since then.

He could travel the route to the android doctor’s office with his eyes closed. Connor’s been there a multitude of times. Idiot. Before he deviated, when his mission was more important than anything--or anyone--else, he would sacrifice his life with no second thought if it meant that he would succeed. And sometimes he _did_ die, making Hank despise the color blue for probably the rest of his life.

It took a long time to get Connor out of that mindset--that he was expendable and that his life came second. He had to hold him by his collar when he wanted to run in front of bullets and make sure he took care of himself before he even considered worrying about the case. But eventually, he did learn to think twice before he put his life on the line. He learned that his life had value, that he was the only Connor left. It didn’t take long, though, for him to find something more important than CyberLife’s mission: Hank.

Just when Hank thought Connor was done catching grenades, he began again, and there was no talking him out of it. When it came to dangerous cases, Connor would throw himself in front of Hank and do all the potentially dangerous stuff that Hank was perfectly capable of doing.

It gave him a heart attack every single time, but at the same time his heart swelled with that stupid paternal sentiment shit he felt for that kid.

And now he’s gone. Fucking October.

“It’s 2039,” not-Connor mutters. “The first Connor model was activated in August 2038, and all news stories involving me at the police department date back to November last year.”

Hank clears his throat, looking back at the android’s guilty expression. He wonders if he can feel emotion the way that Connor did, or if his pity is just preprogrammed. “Yeah, you’re, uh… missing a lot.”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I can imagine that I… Connor meant a lot to you--”

“Hey,” Hank stops and turns to face him, “none of that. We are going to get his… _your_ memories back, and this will just feel like a bad dream.”

 _‘We have to, or I’ll probably kill myself,’_ goes unspoken.

Not-Connor purses his lips and nods, allowing Hank to lead him to the technician again. Hank feels numb. He has a lot of questions--for Connor, for not-Connor, for himself, for CyberLife, for God, for whatever fucking force cursed the month of October for him. How did this happen? What did he ever do? Why Connor? _Why Connor?_

While Hank, of course, doesn’t want Connor to be gone for his own, selfish reasons, but he wants him to come back for Connor’s sake too. He had just been getting the hang of things. Life, emotion, love. He was learning and changing, becoming his own person. Becoming someone Hank literally couldn’t live without. And now he’s gone, but he’s _right there_ , mocking him, teasing him. Not-Connor is here, close enough to touch, but the Connor he knows is far, far away and Hank is stuck without a map.

Hank takes a deep breath and opens the technician’s door.

Dr. Zoe Blessant, a genius android specialist that quit at CyberLife after the revolution and came to work at the DPD. A frequent stop for Connor since he deviated. When the two of them arrive at her lab, she’s sorting what looks like an assortment of biocomponents into bins. Hank clears his throat and she turns quickly, her face softening when she sees them.

“Well, hello, Lieutenant, Connor. Back again, are we?” she says with a smile. Connor had always enjoyed his visits to the android doctor because of her. She’s probably taken apart and put Connor back together a million times.

“Hello,” not-Connor speaks before Hank can, “my name is Connor. It’s very nice to meet you. I am experiencing--”

“We have a bit of a situation, Zoe,” Hank interrupts, putting a hand on not-Connor’s shoulder. Zoe puts down her box of biocomponents, furrowing her brow. “I found him on one of the benches by the holding cells with the, uh, biocomponent behind his ear taken out. I pushed it back in and his memory is...is totally gone. Doesn’t remember me or anything before five minutes ago.”

“Was he attacked?” Zoe approaches and scans over not-Connor, moving his head and limbs to inspect him for any sign of injury.

Hank shakes his head and shrugs. “Already checked. The holding cells were all closed and locked, and he looked fine, other than the biocomponent.”

“My diagnostic scan produces no errors,” not-Connor announces as Zoe leads him to a table much like an exam bed. She has him remove his button-up shirt, and she opens a panel in the back of his neck. Hank shivers as she pulls out a long cord attached to a laptop and plugs it in.

He would rather forget that his partner is an android. He’d be perfectly content with saying goodbye to the light-thingy, the machinery, the hardware, the plastic, the everything that makes Connor seem any less than human. But sometimes it’s hard to forget. Especially now, with not-Connor sitting on a table in the technician room, a long cord plugged into the back of his white, shiny neck. Hank felt uncomfortable--almost sick--seeing the android’s exposed plasteel.

“Hey, Connor, can you reboot for me real quick?” Zoe asks sweetly, typing something into her laptop. The android nods and his eyes close, his light-thingy flickering and dimming for a moment.

It’s strange to think he used to hate the android sitting on that table. The android that he’d beaten up, almost shot, spat and swore at. The android he’d taught how to be alive, watched grow into a person, learned to love. Fucking October.

Connor’s light-thingy shines brighter and he wakes up again, blinking his eyes back into focus. Zoe stops typing for a moment. “Welcome back, Connor. What do you remember?”

Not-Connor looks at Hank hesitantly before speaking. “I’m sorry.”

Hank sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling a lump in the back of his throat. He can tell this is going to be one of his longest Octobers yet.

“That’s alright,” Zoe says with a sympathetic smile to both of them, typing away. “We have the police androids back up their memory to the database, so I don’t see why Connor’s shouldn’t be there too. But before we go through with that, I’m gonna try and figure out why he was reset, just in case. You never know with all those computer viruses and such.”

“How long will that take?” Hank taps his foot, not liking the sound of ‘computer viruses’. He prays that’s not the case.

“Which part?”

“Getting Connor back!” Hank snaps, Zoe flinches, and not-Connor’s light-thingy flashes red for a moment. “I… I’m sorry. We, uh, have a case, and I need Connor to help solve it.”

 _‘Connor’s the only family I’ve got left, and I really need him to be okay,’_ goes unspoken.

“I understand, Lieutenant,” Zoe said softly, never breaking eye contact, as if she’d heard the depressing voice in his head. She scrolls through the text on her screen. “Well, good news: I have access to his command logs, so finding the cause should take about two minutes tops. The memory stuff really depends. If--this is a _big_ if--Connor uploaded all of his memories to the DPD database, he’ll back by, at most, tomorrow.

“But, there’s a small chance that he would have actually done that. His code here has CyberLife’s name all over it. Since he technically wasn’t DPD property before the revolution, he was never in the system. Unless he is now and I don’t know about it, his memories are probably…”

Hank feels a shiver up his spine. “...at CyberLife.”

Zoe looks cautious, talking slowly as if Hank were a child, “...but he doesn’t belong to them anymore.”

“So what you’re saying is…”

“...his memory might not be backed up anywhere,” Zoe finishes for him, and Hank is thoughtful. He can’t bring the words into his mouth. “But Connor was… _is_ sensible. They should be _somewhere._ ”

“But there’s a chance it could be gone forever.” Hank’s voice is quieter than a whisper.

 _‘That Connor is gone forever,’_  goes unspoken.

“There… _is_ a possibility, yes,” Zoe responds, no louder than him.

There’s a suffocating silence between the three of them. Hank feels sick again. His stomach churns with feelings he isn’t unfamiliar with. Despair, guilt, loss. Connor, _his_ Connor, could be gone. Indefinitely.

Hank excuses himself for a moment, making sure the technician’s door is shut behind him. His chest feels tight and his legs weak. He slides down the wall, pulling up his knees close to his chest. Connor. Gone forever. Taking a sharp breath in, he lets the tears that had been threatening to fall for the past ten minutes finally make their way down his cheeks. Tears for Connor, tears for Sumo, tears for Cole.

He hasn’t cried in years. He’d learned to drown his tears in booze, taking swigs until he didn’t feel the sting anymore, until that lump in his throat disappeared, until he didn’t feel anything anymore. And whenever he woke up and felt the pain again, he’d restart the whole cycle over. That system worked for years. He hates to think that he misses it. That all he wants is a bottle of Black Lamb and to drink it until he forgets about not-Connor and Zoe and Sumo’s liver and his six-year-old son bleeding out on an operation table.

But then he thinks of Connor. Him and his voice from the astral plane, reassuring him that he’s strong, that he’s finally clean. He cries harder. Fucking October.

After a few minutes of deep breathing and Connor’s voice murmuring in his head, Hank dusts himself off and enters the android doctor’s office again. Not-Connor sits, his hands folded in his lap, and watches Zoe inspect her computer screen. The resemblance to pre-deviant Connor is uncanny.

Zoe looks up, frowning when she sees Hank. “Lieutenant, I--” she pauses. “I found something that might help us. I’m going through his command logs, and apparently… he performed the reset himself.”

“Wh-what, why?”

“His stress levels reached critical before he uploaded his memory, reset, and then initiated a shutdown, which basically means he… pulled out the biocomponent himself,” Zoe reads over the screen a couple more times while Hank feels someone reach into his chest and rip his heart out. “I… I don’t know. That doesn’t make any sense. Deviants that self-destruct usually destroy themselves, but he... What was he doing before you found him?”

Hank looks at not-Connor. His eyes are closed and his light-thingy flickering yellow. He wonders what he’s thinking. “He was getting info for the Kamski case from one of the Chloes.”

“Nothing that could have risen his stress? Only androids under extreme pressure reach levels high enough to self-destruct.”

“Not that I can think of. I mean, the Chloes looked kind of gruesome, but he’s seen worse. I… I dunno, it’s been a long week for both of us. Maybe he was just… overall stressed out?”

“Long week?”

“Sumo is sick, and you know how close they are,” Hank crosses his arms. Not-Connor cocks his head, his light-thingy flickering yellow again. “And it’s… the, uh… four-year anniversary next week.”

Zoe blinks confusedly a few times before she freezes. “Oh, Lieutenant, I’m sorry--”

“Oh, none of that,” Hank says with a sigh, looking at not-Connor. Blank, emotionless eyes look back. “I just… need Connor back, alright? You said he uploaded his memory? So we can get to it?”

“Uh--yes. Yes, but the log doesn’t say where to. I would check with the database first. That’s probably your best bet,” Zoe says, a tight smile spreading across her face. “I’m sorry about all this. I’ll keep him here and do some more digging while you talk to Fowler about getting access to the database, alright?”

“Sounds good,” Hank grunts and gives another glance towards not-Connor, who is inspecting the room. “Thanks, Zoe.”

On his way to Fowler’s office, Hank festers. Everything’s happening so fast--in the span of just fifteen minutes, he learned his partner lost his memory, may be gone forever, and had almost self-destructed prior. Dammit, Connor.

“Hank,” greeted Jeffrey as Hank entered his office. He puts down the file he was reading and signals for Hank to close the door. “I heard about what happened. What’s goin’ on? Was he really reset?”

The captain had grown rather soft for Hank’s android partner over the past year, just as the lieutenant had. He’d sometimes join them on lunch breaks or stop by the house for dinner. He’d helped Connor in his self-discovery journey. When Connor found himself at the android doctor, he would make sure he had the time to recover just like any human officer would.

He and Jeffrey were friends for a long time, and he’d always said that any friend of Hank’s is a friend of his. Hank appreciates that this applies to androids too.

He smiles meekly. “Yeah, it’s… pretty messed up. He doesn’t remember a thing Zoe’s checking him out. Says he reset himself, but it doesn’t really make sense, y’know? Why? How?”

“You sure nobody was involved? That it wasn’t an attack?”

“Who has the motive?” Hank says with a shrug. “I mean, Gavin’s not a fan of him but I don’t think he’d go so far as to kill him. The holding cells were locked, and the Chloes couldn’t have done anything. Besides, Zoe’s tech shit says it was all him.”

“Like… suicide?”

Hank feels that sick feeling again. He crosses his arms, suddenly unable to look Jeffrey in the eyes. “No. Connor’s not… Connor’s not like that.”

 _‘He’s not like me,’_ goes unspoken.

“Are you sure?”

A long pause. Neither of them moves, neither of them breathes. Hank’s mind plays through every conversation with Connor, every action he’s done, down to the last word and movement, from the past week that might have meant something, that might have signaled to him that he’d failed his job as a partner, as a friend, as his _family_. That October is not at fault--that he was to blame for Connor’s… Connor’s… no.

Hank takes in a breath that he wills not to shake, feeling that stinging in his eyes again. After an eternity of silence, Hank says quietly, “Jeff, I need access to the database. Zoe says that’s our best bet if we wanna get Connor’s memories back.”

Jeffrey sighs and nods his head. “Alright. I’ll get one of the secretary androids to look around, see if she can find anything. Until then, I suggest you take Connor home. He--and you--need time to adjust.

“Thanks, Jeff,” Hank says with another long sigh, leaving the captain’s office with a sinking feeling in his chest.

He tries not to imagine Connor, tears streaming down his face, light-thingy blaring red, ripping biocomponent #3938v out of his neck, and collapsing onto the bench. But he does anyway, and it makes him want to vomit. It can’t be true. It can’t be. It’s not. Maybe it’s denial, maybe it’s some stupid psychological shit he’ll want to drown away with booze or the Connor from the astral plane, but he refuses to believe that not-Connor doesn’t remember him because he...

He makes a beeline for the archive room.

If Connor didn’t kill himself, he’ll find out who did. He logs into Connor’s account on the console--his password is ‘Sumo’ in binary code (which he can never remember without using a converter on his phone)--and watches as his locker comes into view. His eyes rest on the unconscious Chloe, biocomponent #3938v hanging out of her neck. Rage flowers in his chest. He stomps towards her, pushing the part back in and watching her come alive.

“Hello? Who’s there? I can’t see.”

Hank grabs her face. “What did you fucking do to him?”

“Lieutenant Anderson?” she whispers, sightless eyes darting all around. She struggles against his hand. “What--why am I awake?”

“Answer me,” Hank growls. “What did you do to him?”

“Wh-- What, Connor? I didn’t do anything. What do you mean?”

“He was reset, and all evidence leads to you,” Hank lied, feeling the rage in his chest burn brighter. “What the fuck did you do?!”

“I didn’t do anything, I swear!” she speaks fast, almost too fast for Hank to comprehend Her light-thingy blares red. “H-He was acting strange when he was talking to me. Preoccupied. He was about to self-destruct. I could detect his stress levels reaching critical amounts. I don’t know what it was, but I promise I didn’t do anything!”

Hank heaves a sigh, reaching up to pull the biocomponent back out of her neck.

“Wait--!”

He balls his hand into a fist. “What?”

“Please,” she whimpers, “don’t let the other Chloe get away.”

He pulls out the processing unit. Fuck. He logs back out of Connor’s account and buries his face in his hands.

Zoe has her face shoved in her computer screen and not-Connor plays with a coin when Hank returns. He feels a chill at the sight of the flipping quarter. The technician doesn’t seem to notice him walk in until he clears his throat to signal his arrival.

“Oh, Lieutenant! C’mere, I just found something,” she says with a wave of her hand. “He left a note before he shut down. It’s basically hidden in his coding, but I’m sure it was meant for us. Bunches of deviants left secret messages in their coding during the revolution about rA9 and all that stuff. Anyway, it looks… like binary code and his serial number? Look here.”

Hank squinted to see in the long block of text. Sure enough, Zoe had highlighted a string of numbers: 011010000110000101101110011010110010110100101101313248317.

He grunts and crosses his arms. “How do you know it’s for us?”

“That line of binary code spells out Hank with two dashes after it. I’m thinking he wanted you to see it.” Zoe points to the string of ones and zeroes. “But why?”

“He hasn’t worn his CyberLife uniform in months, and God knows I can’t remember that shit. Maybe he just needed to remind me?”

Zoe taps her fingers on the desk and not-Connor flips the coin. “But what’s his serial number do for you? Is it his password for the system or something? Will we need to know it to get his memories back?”

Not-Connor grabs the coin and traps it in his fist. “Our serial codes are the only identifiers that can differentiate between us and other models of our kind. That serial code is unique to me, so CyberLife uses that as my password to their database if I were to ever need to access it. Connor probably uploaded his memory to CyberLife and left that for you so that you can get them back.”

“That’s definitely gotta be a lead on his memories,” Zoe says, her eyes lighting up. “How’d it go with Fowler?”

Hank blinks, recalling his conversation with Fowler. _“Like… suicide?”_ He shivers before answering, “He said he’ll get one of the secretaries to check out the database for me. And that I should take Connor home.”

“That’s probably best. This is a new situation for all of us.” She helps not-Connor down off the table. “I’m prescribing you both rest and a good night’s sleep.”

“You’re not a doctor,” Hank says with a hint of laughter in his voice.

“I’m an android doctor--and I do what’s best for my patient,” Zoe retorts, grinning knowingly and patting not-Connor on the shoulder. “See you guys tomorrow.”

“Goodbye, Zoe,” not-Connor says with an android-like smile. “It was nice meeting you.”

Zoe smiles sadly in return, looking down at her feet. Before Hank can leave, she suddenly springs up. “Wait, Lieutenant--”

Hank stops in the doorway, turning to look at the android doctor. “Yeah?”

“Be careful.”

“What? Why?”

“This isn’t the same Connor you know,” she wrings her hands, “obviously. He’s… well, I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

“Deviancy. We don’t know. We’ve studied it for months, but I doubt we’ll ever actually understand. It’s just… an unprecedented phenomenon, you know?” she chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of her neck. “If it’s just… I dunno, a flipped switch in his processor, we could be dealing with a sociopath with emotions he doesn’t understand. If deviancy is more of an emotional reaction, we could be dealing with a machine who believes his mission is above all else. We could be dealing with something--someone--that no one’s ever dealt with before, so just… be careful, okay?”

Hank blinks, looking at not-Connor again before nodding his head slowly. “Can do, Zoe. Thank you.”

 _‘Help him,’_ goes unspoken. _‘Help me.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: zoe won't be a regular character. i'm not a fan of OCs in fanfic, but she was needed for this chapter so i just whipped up a technician lady real quick.
> 
> next chapter might be real long or real short depending on how closely i want to follow my outline, so i honestly can't give you even an estimate of when that all might be out
> 
> anyway, hope you enjoyed, and i'll see you in the next chapter.


	3. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank takes not-Connor home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm really sorry that this took so long to come out!! but i honestly shouldn't apologize cause i'm about to get realllll fuckin' busy so uh. sorry?
> 
> the reason i take so long is cause i do multiple drafts per chapter. it's either a long wait or shitty writing. y'all choose. (i choose long wait)

Hank barely has time to close the door before not-Connor apologizes.

“I’m sorry for the trouble, Lieutenant,” he says, wringing his hands, wearing that fake-guilty frown on his face. Hank thinks about what Zoe told him.  _ We could be dealing with a sociopath with emotions he doesn’t understand. _ “You know, I can still work. I’ll just have to do some extra research to catch up to my predecessor, but we really shouldn’t hinder the investigation--”

“Connor, it’s 2039,” Hank snaps. “The android revolution ended months ago. There is no investigation anymore. The deviants won, androids are free, and I’m taking you home--no ifs, ands, or buts!”

Not-Connor doesn’t speak for a long moment. It reminds Hank of a scolded child. His light-thingy flickers yellow and doesn’t seem to go back to blue for ages. “So… I failed my mission?”

Hank is taken back to the December of 2038.

There’s a stoic detective in his android uniform, hugging himself to protect his body from the cold, and a drunken police lieutenant sitting on the back of a park bench with a bottle in his hand. This wasn’t the first time they sat like this, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. The android looked over the river, snowflakes sticking in his hair. He had just returned from Washington D.C., where he’d been fighting with Jericho in the Supreme Court for android rights and freedom. Needless to say, he was exhausted, and he’d had a lot of time to think.

He turned his head towards the lieutenant, taking in a deep breath (that Hank wasn’t sure that he needed) before speaking, “You really shouldn’t be drinking that, Hank.”

“Yeah, I know,” was all that Hank could say. “I know.”

He set the bottle down on the bench. Connor turned to face Hank head-on, leaning against the fence. His light-thingy spun, changing from blue, to yellow, to blue, to yellow. His coat blew in the winter wind, and Hank wondered if androids can feel the cold. He stared at the blue armband dimly illuminating the right side of the android’s face.

Hank shivered, and it wasn’t because of the cold. “Hey, why are you still wearing that?”

“My uniform?”

“Yeah. Law states you don’t have to wear it anymore, you know. You were literally just in D.C. fighting for that, Connor,” Hank chuckled, noting that Connor hadn’t looked him in the eye even once since they arrived. “Why don’t you get some new clothes? Spice it up a little. I’ll take you shopping if you want.”

Connor didn’t respond, in classic Connor fashion. Hank had come to notice over the past two months that if the android had something he didn’t want to admit, he would choose silence. He looked away from the lieutenant, leaning over the rail on the shore. Blue, to yellow, to blue, to yellow.

Perhaps the silence was a result of being a machine for so long, fighting against his deviant impulses, Hank deduced. The android used to lie to CyberLife (and to himself) on the regular. He knew how to keep a secret. Hell, he had to keep secrets to save his own life. 

Hank sighed. That was ingrained in that kid’s processor from the very beginning--succeed or die. There’s really no easy way to come back from that--but there’s no fucking harm in trying, is there? The kid tried his best to help him with his own personal issues, and he’d be damned if he didn’t try to do the same.

He stood to approach him. “Hey, Connor. You alright?”

Blue, to yellow, to blue, to yellow. “I suppose there’s some… sentimental… or… or  _ emotional _ value associated with this uniform--similar to the way you keep that picture of Cole. I never understood that until now. It makes me upset, but I still keep looking at it. I still want to keep it. I guess there’s no better way to explain it.”

“Why does it make you upset?”

“It… It reminds me of who I used to be. A machine designed to accomplish a task,” Connor said, finally looking up to meet Hank’s gaze. His dark eyes held emotions that Hank never thought he could see in an android. “I did a lot of… _unpleasant_ things before I deviated that I don’t want to remember… but if I forget--if I take off my uniform--I feel I’m losing a part of me.”

“The part of you that used to be a machine?” Hank asked. Connor nodded. “Why would you want to remember that?”

Connor laughed sadly, looking away. “There’s nothing very rational about it.”

Hank stifled a laugh. He had said that the last time they came to this spot. Of course, Connor has one of the best teachers when it comes to learning how emotions work--Hank has a masters degree in bottling his shit up and not making any goddamn sense. It would only make sense that Connor took after him.  _ Sorry ‘bout that, kid. _

Neither of them said anything for a while--they just look out over the river at the brightly lit Detroit skyline.

“There are so many feelings that I don’t understand,” Connor said with a sigh. “I don’t know  _ why _ I want to keep my uniform. I know I’d be better off if I got rid of it, but… I can’t.”

“You’re still Connor with or without the uniform, you know,” Hank tried, shrugging sympathetically.

“It’s not just that, though. I think… there’s a part of me that’s still a machine. That still believes I can’t take it off because I’m an android or… or CyberLife’s property. But… I know that’s not true? But, at the same time, I know I can’t take it off.”

Hank looked at him over the rim of his imaginary glasses. “You lost me.”

“Think of it as torture, I suppose. My old programming was so strong that it… still has control over a part of my processor. There’s still a part of me that’s programmed to punish myself because I failed my mission, so I… wear my uniform.”

Hank felt himself tense up. “Connor--“

“But it’s a good thing that I failed. If I hadn’t gone deviant, I probably would have hurt a lot more androids. We might still be fighting for our freedom.”

“I don’t understand, kid.”

“Neither do I.” Blue, to yellow, to blue, to yellow.

Hank smiled sadly. “This is all new to you. This is new to all of us. Ah, Jesus, I’m bad at this sentimental shit--You’re going against everything you were taught, okay? Nobody’s expectin’ you to get it right on the first try. You just… have to learn, is all. Take it one step at a time.”

“Everyone at Jericho already seems to know what they’re doing.”

“You just need more time, and that’s alright. Alright?” Hank made Connor look at him in the eye. “And I’ll be there if you need me, kid.”

“Thank you, Hank,” Connor said, leaning his head on the lieutenant’s shoulder.

“Working with an android with…  _ personal issues _ is an added challenge, but… I have some experience,” Hank said with a wink. Connor laughed--a snort followed by loud chortles. That was the second time Hank had made Connor laugh. He liked it. That day, he had added laughter onto his vow to make Connor smile as much as possible.

His light-thingy finally settled on blue, and the two of them simply sat and watched the city lights. Not-Connor, however, has seemed to settle on yellow.

“Yeah,” Hank sighs, beginning the trek back to his desk with not-Connor in tow. He can’t say that he misses being followed around like a dog owner. “You failed your mission.”

“And I wasn’t deactivated?”

Hank stops and turns on his heels. “What? No. Connor, you failed so that androids could be  _ free. _ CyberLife was--is--your enemy. You weren’t deactivated because you’re not their property anymore. You,” Hank jabs his index finger into the android’s chest, “are your own person. You are alive.”

Not-Connor’s light-thingy is still yellow and his brow is furrowed. Hank can tell this is going to be a long rest of the day. “So… the deviants have free will?”

Hank keeps walking. “Androids have free will, right to property, right to vote, U.S. citizenship--the whole shebang. You failed, but that’s alright.”

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but that seems dangerous. Deviants are prone to violence and self-destruction.”

“Only ‘cause humans kept them as property for so long. Android-related crime has gone down a shit ton since the end of the revolution. The only issue we’ve had is androids getting murdered by humans. All the deviants are happy now. I reiterate: you failed, but that’s  _ not _ a bad thing.”

“I… think I understand. The deviants only lashed out because humans were hurting them?”

“Correct.”

“I’m still confused.”

Hank throws his arms up in exasperation. “What isn’t there to understand?”

“No, no, not about that. If I failed, then why didn’t Amanda hurt me?” not-Connor inquires as they approach their desks.

“Aman--who?”

“Amanda,” not-Connor repeats. “She is an AI programmed by CyberLife to keep me in check while I’m working. I report to her, and she ensures I’m not experiencing initiatives or thoughts that aren’t a part of my program. If I show signs of deviancy, she is supposed to eradicate them.”

Hank looks up from the files he began to organize on his desk. “So she’s an anti-deviant program?”

“Essentially.”

The files drop unceremoniously out of Hank’s hands. He curses and bends down to grab them, feeling his heart sink with him.

Connor never told him about this. Is that who he talked to when he made his “reports to CyberLife”?  _ Did _ she try to hurt him after he deviated? Is there a reason he never told him? Connor had mentioned that CyberLife could take control of his body (demonstrated by what almost happened at the android rally in November), but he’d never mentioned a literal person living in his head.

Hank makes a mental note to talk to him about that when he gets his memories back.

“We should head home,” he tells not-Connor, who sits politely behind his desk with his hands crossed in his lap. “Doctor’s orders.”

“She’s a technician, Lieutenant,” not-Connor replies, earning an irritated sigh from Hank. “We don’t have to leave yet. The day isn’t over, and I am perfectly capable of working. Just give me a few minutes to download the case information and--”

“Connor,” Hank warns, as if he were reprimanding a child. “We’re going home. Besides, there’s someone there I want you to meet.”

Not-Connor is going to love Sumo--Hank knows it. Connor, even pre-deviant, loved him to death. Hank holds out his hand to not-Connor, waiting for him to grab it so he can pull him out of his chair. He leads him out the door and to the car, ignoring the protests that came with it.

The android sits in the passenger seat with a blank stare and his hands folded in his lap. A sociopath. A machine. Something  _ dangerous. _

Hank pulls out his phone and scrolls through his contacts. He looks over his shoulder at the android in the passenger seat before pressing the call button for Markus. Connor had given him his number a couple months back after that aforementioned impromptu repair, just in case he needed to talk to another android… for emergency purposes? He never really had a reason to call him before now.

It rings only once before Markus picks up. “Hello?”

“Hey, uh, is this Markus?”

“Yes, who is this?” Hank can hear faint talking in the background. Markus must be at New Jericho.

“This is Lieutenant Anderson. Uh, Connor’s friend.”

Markus's voice warms, and Hank can almost hear his charismatic smile. “Ah, Lieutenant. It’s nice to finally be able to talk to you. Is everything alright? You sound distressed.”

Hank turns to look at not-Connor. “No, uh… not really. Connor got reset, and he doesn’t remember anything. Has… Has anything like this happened before? Anything you could tell me what would make this easier for both of us?”

“What? How was he reset?”

“No fuckin’ clue.”

“Was he attacked?”

“Not that I know of.”

Markus is silent for a moment. “So he did it himself?”

Hank hears Fowler in his head again.  _ Like… suicide? _ He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I guess so.”

“Well, I’ve seen androids that have been reset before,” Markus began, “but always on purpose, by a second party. I’ve never seen an android reset himself before, and I honestly don’t see why  _ Connor _ would have done that…”

“So you know about as much as we do?”

“I’m afraid so,” Markus sighs. “I don’t have an explanation. I’m sorry.”

Hank feels unsteady. He hasn’t gotten an answer to a single question he’s asked thus far. Everything is just a fucking mystery, but he  _ needs  _ the answers. He just wants to know if Connor will be okay… and  _ was _ okay before this all even happened. “Let me ask you another question, Markus.”

“Alright.”

“Can androids… kill themselves?”

“Yes, many deviants did so before we were liberated. It’s often a fight-or-flight reaction due to overwhelming emotion or high stress levels--”

“Yeah, I know what, but… like, if something had been bothering them for a while and they couldn’t stand it anymore,” Hank takes in a shaky breath, “hypothetically. Could that lead to… y’know…?”

Markus is silent again. “Yes, Lieutenant. Our emotions are very similar, if not identical to those that humans experience. If an android were to face suicidal ideation, it would be likely that… Lieutenant, do you think that Connor committed suicide?”

“I’m out of answers here, Markus. I don’t know what happened, how it happened, or why it happened. All I know is that my friend--my  _ family _ \-- is gone, and I didn’t do anything to stop that from happening,” Hank manages to say through the lump in his throat. God, everything is so fucked. He’s dumping all this shit on an android he’s never talked to.

Markus’s voice is soft. It probably would have calmed him down if he were in any other situation. “Lieutenant, none of this is your fault.”

“Y’know what? Forget I said anything. Thank you, Markus.”

He hangs up before Markus can say another word. Not-Connor watches him through the window, his light-thingy flickering and yellow. Hank curses and turns around, taking deep breaths until he doesn’t feel like he has to cry anymore.

The car door creaks when he opens and closes it. Not-Connor watches him expectantly as he turns the key to start the car.

“Markus was right, Lieutenant.”

“The fuck--Were you listening in on my call?”

“My reset was none of your fault,” not-Connor says with a small smile, blatantly ignoring Hank’s question. “There’s nothing you could have--”

“Don’t fuckin’ dodge the question.”

“Yes, Lieutenant. I am able to read lips, and when you mentioned my name I wanted to make sure that all was well.”

“Are you fucking kidd--?” Hank stops when he sees that not-Connor is, in fact,  _ not _ kidding. He runs a hand down his face. “Well, don’t fuckin’ do it again, alright?”

“Alright, Lieutenant.”

Hank feels his eye twitch. “Call me Hank.”

“No offense, but we have a professional relationship, Lieutenant. It would be unprofessional for me to--”

“Nuh-uh,” Hank growls, pointing a finger at the android. “You might not be Connor, but you’ve got his… everything, and Connor was my family, so call me  _ Hank _ … please.”

Not-Connor nods, looking down at his hands as Hank pulls out of the parking lot. He really reminds Hank of who Connor used to be before he deviated. Polite and reserved with a take-no-shit attitude, to the point were it pissed off Hank to no end. A fucking machine with its own personality, he used to think, what’ll they come up with next?

Suicidal androids, apparently.

Hank continues to think. Does he even have the right to be upset? Connor--albeit  _ not _ -Connor--is still right here. He can look at him, he can touch him, he can  _ talk _ to him. Ignore the fact that his brains are scrambled, and it’s like he never even left.

It’s nowhere near the finality of a liver disease or a car accident, so why does he still feel so  _ horrible? _

...Because it’s his fault.

No matter what Markus or not-Connor says, it’s Hank’s fault that Connor’s memory is gone, as it was with everything else he’s lost. It’s Hank’s fault that his dog is sick, it’s Hank’s fault that his wife left him, and it’s Hank’s fault that his son is dead. He fucked this up. October had no influence--it’s all  _ his fucking fault. _

He’s the one that’s supposed to be dead, found with a bullet in his skull. That had been the plan, but, instead, everyone around him is dropping like flies.

He blinks back the third round of tears, refusing to let this… this  _ not-Connor _ see him vulnerable. He’s right. They’re not family anymore. They’re hardly even friends. This is another person. This isn’t Connor.

He puts on his blinker and merges off of the freeway. The road is full of potholes.

“Lieuten-- _ Hank, _ ” not-Connor, as if on cue, says carefully. “I’ve come to understand that the android I used to be meant a great deal to you.”

“What about it?”

“Maybe… it would be in your best interest to tell me about who I used to be so that you and I can get along better. Explain to me what I’m missing so that I can…  _ be _ Connor, since that is what would make you happy.

Hank blinks a few times, both in confusion and to rid of the wetness taking over them. “Connor, I…”

God, what is he doing? What’s happening? Is this Connor, or just a shell of his former self? Is this the android he loves? Fuck--too many questions, not enough answers. Hank wants not-Connor to be Connor. He really does, but he doesn’t want not-Connor to feel unwelcome, like there’s somebody he  _ has _ to be.

Just an endless loop of confusion and tears and mechanical shit he’ll never understand.

There are too many questions… but maybe he doesn’t need any answers. Not-Connor is just not-Connor. He isn’t Connor. He’s his own person, too.

Not-Connor cocks his head. “Is there something wrong?”

“Are you sure you want that?” Hank sighs. “You have free will, kid. You can be whoever you want to be.”

“I am an RK800 model, and therefore I am Connor, and I cannot  _ want _ anything, Hank. I am not a deviant,” not-Connor--Connor?--explains, his expression hard. So many questions, not enough answers.

Hank smiles a little. “My Connor was. He was just like you when I first met him--determined to accomplish his fuckin’ mission. Didn’t care about anything else. But one thing led to another, he started to see the humanity in deviants, he showed compassion, and then he went deviant and worked with Jericho. Helped liberate thousands of androids from CyberLife.”

“Yes… I saw the news articles. That was me?”

“Yep.” Hank pulls into his driveway and shifts into park. “After the deviants one, he helped Jericho pass android rights laws in D.C. and then came back to live with me. And that’s how it’s been ever since then. He, uh… we learned together about the whole deviancy thing. I helped him with his problems, and he helped me with mine. We stuck together through the good times and the bad. We… we’re family, no other way to put it.”

Not-Connor is silent for a moment, processing this information with a flickering, never-changing yellow light-thingy. “He… I seem nice. We must have had quite a bond before I was reset.”

Hank closes his car door, looking at Sumo’s droopy face through the living room window. He chuckles and turns towards not-Connor, taking in his warm, familiar face. For the first time since not-Connor woke up on that bench, Hank feels like things might turn out alright. He smiles.

“Yeah. Yeah, we did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed! the next chapter is gonna be short and sweet so hopefully it won't take too long to come out. thanks for reading!!

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!


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